It's Not Fair
by SamDeanWinchester7
Summary: This is an AU ending to Supernatural, which transitions into the crossover "What The Walls Had To Say" with Voltron. If you wanna read it as a stand alone one-shot, be my guest, but I'll warn you now that it's a lot less depressing if you just keep going to the crossover. This doesn't exactly leave off on a happy note. Major character death, individually written by Dean.


_Author's note: Hey, everybody, this is Dean. So, Sammy and I have been writing a crossover story with Voltron and Supernatural. I've never personally watched Voltron, but it's fun and that's what counts._

_So, basically what we have going on here is an alternate ending to Supernatural to transition into the crossover. I know some things in here won't strictly follow the rules laid down by the show, but it is an AU, so just roll with it, cool? Cool._

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine**

_**It's Not Fair**_

"So, I'm thinking Wendigo." Sam says tiredly, shutting his laptop and running a hand down his face. Dean looks up at him from across the tiny table in their motel room, his eyes slightly glazed from reading out of John's journal for so long.

"What?"

"A wendigo, Dean. You've got ears for a reason. Use em."

"Shut up, Sam." Dean rubs his eyes tiredly with his fists. He's been up for forty-six of the last forty-eight hours, running on coffee and whiskey, and it's really starting to show.

"Okay, dude, you need to go to bed." Sam pulls John's journal out of his hands with a disturbingly small amount of effort. "You can't hunt when you're trashed."

"Watch me."

"It's not safe for either us."

That settles it. Putting Sam in danger is out of the question. That's the only reason. Dean's not completely exhausted. Nope. Not at all.

He gets up and walks over to the bed closest to the door, collapsing on top of it without even bothering to take off his boots.

"Night, Sammy." he says tiredly.

Sam just raises an eyebrow. He expected to have to fight his brother way harder on this, and when he said go to bed, he thought Dean would at least take the time to brush his teeth and take off his jeans, like usual. Sometimes he forgets his brother can be so pliant when he's exhausted.

Dean's passed out asleep in no time.

Shaking his head, Sam gets out of his jeans and pulls on a pair of sweats, turning off all the lights except the lamp next to his bed. Careful not to wake Dean, he pulls off his brother's shoes, grabs one of the spare blankets out of the closet, and drapes it on top of him. Shaking his head one more time, he climbs into bed himself and turns off his light.

"Night, Dean."

XxXxX

Even though they went to sleep at five in the morning, Sam and Dean are up and on the ball by ten. They think it'll be best to hunt the wendigo during the day. The creatures are almost impossible to take down during the night. Too stealthy. Too fast. Too lethal.

Since flare guns worked so well last time, they load up on the things and head out to the woods just outside of town. There aren't any people around, on account of the recent 'bear attacks', so they don't have to worry about being disturbed.

"I've missed this." Sam says after they've been out there for about ten minutes. "Remember when everything used to be this simple?"

"Don't get sentimental on me now, Sammy." Dean laughs. "Nothing good comes out of it."

"I'm just saying. Remember the time that demon was taking down planes , and you said that wasn't our normal gig and that it was big? Now they're pretty run-of-the-mill, and Crowley's number's still on your speed dial. Hell, you _were_ one of them for a little bit."

"Yeah, well, times change." Dean scans the area around them, looking for movement. Nothing's getting the drop on him tonight. "And we gotta change with them."

Sam laughs a little bitterly. "Yeah, they sure didn't give us much of a choice, did they?"

"You gotta do what you gotta do." Dean says with a shrug.

They turn a corner in the path and came face-to-face with a dark cave, half of the entrance blocked by the remains of some long-ago rockslide. Sam and Dean exchange a look, nod, and go in.

It's dark and wet in there, the air heavy. Menacing. Dean keeps turning his head to look behind them, unable to shake the feeling of being watched, but there's never anything to see. Though, in his experience, that doesn't mean nothing's there.

"Dude, you're jumpier than the Easter Bunny." Sam says after a good five minutes. "What's the matter with you?"

"Just a really bad feeling."

"You think something's behind us?"

Dean licks his lips nervously, glancing around them again. "That's what I'm still making up my mind on."

"Well, I trust you to keep an eye out. Don't worry about it too much."

It was another ten minutes before a groan suddenly split the silence and they froze.

"We're getting close." Dean whispers.

Sam does the same. "And at least one of em's still alive. Have you seen it yet?"

"Nothing." Dean shakes his head. "It's quiet. A little too quiet, and it's freaking me out. Now let's go."

Sam and Dean carefully creep farther down the tunnel until they round a corner into a large chamber full of bodies.

"Son of a bitch." Dean hisses, lifting an arm to cover his nose. "Bodies smell, but this is ridiculous."

"Who cares about the bodies? We gotta find the live one."

Sam and Dean walk farther into the cavern, swinging their flashlights and flare guns left and right, looking for something that isn't past its expiration date.

"Sam. Here." Dean crouches down next to a young man that's at the top of one pile of bodies. He's covered in blood and white as a sheet, but he's still breathing, and that's what counts.

"Man." Sam comes over and crouches down too. "How long d'you think he's been down here?"

"Long enough." Dean looks around, trying to decide what to do. "Look, why don't you get him out of here? Get him out to the Impala, and I'll see if I can find our cannibalistic friend."

"What if you need back up or something?"

"Come back once you get him in the car. Now, get outta here. I'm gonna go cause a distraction." Dean pats Sam's back, then gets up and walks back out of the pocket full of people. With a distinct sense of deja vu, he calls, "Here, monster monster! Here, monster monster!"

Five minutes later, when he's starting to wonder if maybe the wendigo is out hunting someone new, he hears a growling sound from behind him. Before he even gets a chance to turn, he's thrown forwards into the cave wall and falls to the ground. Long-fingered hands grab him and flip him over, and he's looking up into the face of the wendigo. He's always thought wendigos look like a cross between a goblin and Gollum, but the resemblance is even more pronounced up close. It curls it's fists around Dean's throat.

"You - stupid - fugly - bastard." Dean gasps, managing to jam his flare gun up in between their chests. "Enjoy - purgatory." He pulls the trigger, and the thing bursts into flames with a satisfying scream, burning down to nothing.

Dean scrambles to his feet, breathing heavily. "Why is it always too close?" he mutters under his breath, heading back to the cave entrance.

"Dean!" Sam meets him right as he walks out. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Sam places a hand on each side of Dean's neck, examining the black and purple bruises that are already blooming there from the wendigo's fingers. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Sam, I'm sure." Dean shoves Sam's hands away, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I'm bleeding out through my stomach or something. Now, is that guy in the back of-"

A large black shape suddenly shoots out of the underbrush around the cave mouth. It clips Dean, sending his flare gun spinning off into the darkness, and slams into Sam. Another wendigo. Dean's shocked. These things hunt alone.

Not sure what else to do, he pulls out a silver knife and jumps on the thing, the blade flashing as he opens a cut on its face.

A hand suddenly grabs Dean from behind and throws him off. He tumbles across the small clearing and crashes into a tree. _Another_ wendigo.

"Son of a bitch." he moans, trying to get to his feet and feeling ridiculously disoriented. He manages to push himself up on his knees, and his hand brushes against something metal. His flare gun.

Now is not the time for elaborate plans. He grabs the gun, rolls onto his side, and empties everything in it in the two wendigos' general direction. He's rewarded with more screams and explosions of light that fizzle out to nothing.

"Sam!" he shouts, stumbling to his feet. "Sammy!"

His brother doesn't move.

"Sammy, c'mon." Dean staggers over and drops to his knees beside his brother. "You've gotta be okay, c'mon."

Sam's white as a sheet, his eyes glazed over with pain and blood loss. Scarlet spreads rapidly over his shirt, though it might be more accurate to just call it ribbons now.

"Sammy." Dean gathers his brother up into his arms, halfway in his lap. Sam's head lolls against his shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey. You're okay. Everything's gonna be fine. I'm gonna get you outta here."

Sam opens his mouth, trying to say something, but blood just pours down his chin instead. He coughs wetly, and it sprays across Dean's face. His eyes slip close.

"Sammy, no." Dean says sharply, cupping Sam's cheek with his hand. "Open your eyes, Sammy. You can't sleep yet."

No response.

"Sammy." Dean shakes his still form. "Sammy, please!" He places two fingers on his neck just under his jaw, checking for a pulse. Nothing.

"No! No, it's not fair!" Dean screams, tears starting to make their way down his face. "Sammy, come back! Don't you leave me here by myself! Sammy, damn it, please! SAMMY, PLEASE!"

His shoulders shaking with violent sobs, Dean slowly lowers his forehead to his little brothers, his tears falling on the younger man's face. He doesn't move, just holding the body close, whispering his name over and over, begging Sam to come back to him.

XxXxX

The guy in the backseat is already dead by the time Dean makes a move, so he just shoves the body out and leaves it there, replacing it with Sam's. He climbs into the driver's seat and tears off down the dirt road.

"It's gonna be fine, Sammy." he whispers, even though there's nobody listening but himself. "I've fixed this before, I can fix it again. Don't you worry."

He skids to a stop at the nearest crossroads he can find. Sure, Sam will have his head for this, but he can deal with that later.

Filled with the kind of purpose he only feels when he's protecting Sam, Dean gets out of the car, goes around to the trunk, and pulls out the little box he keeps hidden back there, just in case of emergencies. He put it under the playboys and hamburger coupons, knowing there was almost no way Sam would accidentally come across it there. Carefully, he opens it, making sure everything is still in there, before walking over to the center of the crossroads and burying it.

"Well, well, well." a voice says from behind him. "Here we go again."

"Damn straight, asshole." Dean turns to face the petite, black-haired demon chick. "You know what it is I want, so let's just cut the crap and get on with it. I want my brother, I want ten years. Then I'll come on home."

The demon shakes her head slowly. "See, that's the thing. It's just not gonna happen."

"What d'you mean, it's just not gonna happen?" He feels like ice is pumping through his veins. "You're a demon! You make deals and take souls!"

"Souls that are _worth_ something."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it's very, very simple, Dean-o." The demon walks forward, slowly and deliberately, until she's right in Dean's personal space and runs a finger down his chest. "Your soul is so unbelievably damaged, so torn and twisted and mutilated, that it's worth absolutely nothing. Much less" - she glances in the direction of the Impala - "the life of your brother."

"There's gotta be something I can do. I'll do anything. I'll be Hell's bitch, and I won't complain. Hell, I'll seal this deal with sex instead of a kiss, anything at all, just please, give him back to me."

"Dean Winchester begging." The demon smiles. "I like it. Do it again."

"Please."

"On your knees."

Feeling like this is more violating than all his years in Hell combined, Dean drops to his knees. "Please. I need him. Please."

She runs a possessive hand through his hair, letting it come to rest on the back of his head. "As much of a turn on as this is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no. Goodbye, Dean-o."

And just like that, she's gone.

"No!" Dean shouts, forcing himself to his feet even though he feels like his legs are going to give out underneath him any second. "Come back, you stupid bitch!"

The only answer he gets is the howling of the wind as a storm blows in.

XxXxX

"Hiya, Patrick." Dean scoots into a small booth in a dimly lit bar across from the witch he met so many years ago.

"Winchester." Patrick laughs bitterly. "Wow."

"Look, I don't want any trouble." Dean spreads his hands to show he's at the very least not holding any weapons in them right now. "I was wondering if you can restore life."

"What are you talking about?"

"You gamble years. That's essentially playing with people's lives. Can you restore someone's life? Give them extra years?"

Patrick sat back, for the first time looking interested. "Possibly."

"And what would I have to do to find out?"

"Play me."

Dean grits his teeth. He doesn't like this, but what choice does he really have? "Alright, then. Let's play."

XxXxX

"Four of a kind." Patrick says, setting his cards down. "Sorry, Winchester. Looks like you lost this one."

Dean gives him a sarcastic smile. "Cute, but…" He lays his cards down too. "Straight flush. In diamonds."

"Damn it." Patrick hisses.

"So?" Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Fix my brother."

"See, that's the thing." Patrick stands up. "I can't."

Whereas before he felt ice, now Dean just feels an empty nothingness. "Say again."

"I can't. But you're right, you did win, so…" Patrick waves a hand in Dean's general direction, throwing him against the wall. Dean's head collides painfully with the hard surface, and he once again finds himself too disoriented to move. Why does this always happen to him?

By the time lights stop popping in front of Dean's eyes and the ringing in his ears has stopped enough for him to get to his feet without falling right back over, Patrick is long gone.

That doesn't stop Dean from running out into the back alley screaming for the bastard to get his selfish ass back here and do something. Or cursing God at the top of his voice. Or punching the brick wall in front of him until his knuckles are torn wide open.

After a good thirty minutes, he just leans against the wall, thinking through his other options. There's gotta be something else he can do. Something. Anything. But right now, his mind is hopelessly blank. He glares down at his bloody hands.

Wait a second…

Dean turns and runs back into the building, straight to the bathroom, only stopping when he's in front of a mirror.

"Holy shit." he whispers, reaching up a hand to touch his face. Even though Patrick can't give him what he wants, he did still win the poker game.

He's twenty-six again.

XxXxX

Burning Sam's body is the hardest thing he's ever done.

He doesn't even have it in him to stay standing the whole time. Before the shape wrapped in white on the pyre is even halfway burned, he's on his hands and knees, sobbing so hard he can't see and can barely breathe.

Why? Sure, he and Sam have done some bad, but they always try to help, to save people, to do what they feel is right. Why Sam? And why now? He survived the apocalypse, leviathans, the trials, and that's just the beginning. How the hell does it make any sense that the thing that got him in the end was a damn well wendigo?

Well, actually, Dean knows how it makes sense. It was his own stupidity, his own carelessness. His own failure at the one job that truly meant anything.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." he whispers. "I should've been more careful. Noticed there was more than one. Protected you better. _Done something_…"

Dean's not looking for absolution. He knows he won't get it, and besides, he doesn't deserve it. But the words still need to be said. He can't be forgiven, but he still needs to let someone know how sorry he is. He can't tell Sam. But he can tell the empty world around him. And that will have to be enough.

XxXxX

The sound of wings flutters through Dean's motel room, and Castiel appears.

"Dean?" the angel asks. The room is dark, and he can barely make out the shape of his friend on the bed. "Where have you been? Where's Sam?"

"Go away, Cas."

He blinks. Dean's voice sounds… younger. A little higher. "Dean? What happened?"

"I said _go away_." Dean rolls over and throws a shoe at Cas, which bounces off the angel's chest, then pulls his blanket up over his head.

"Dean, that is ridiculously childish." Cas turns on the light to the room. "And so is hiding under a blanket. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Dean doesn't answer.

"Where's Sam? I'm sure that whatever happened, whether it was something you did or something someone else did, he'll want to help you."

"Sam's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean he's _dead_, Cas." Dean sniffles once, trying not to cry.

Well, that explains a lot.

"Dean." Cas comes over and sits down on the bed. "I - I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry doesn't bring him back."

"I know." Cas sighs. "Dean, come out, please. You sound different. Is it just because you've been crying, or…"

"No. Leave me alone."

Cas glances around the room, taking in the wreckage for the first time. Everything is in pieces on the floor. "Dean, did you do this?"

Dean kicks Cas. "So what if I did? Now get away from me."

"Alright, this is unhealthy." Cas grabs the blankets and yanks them off the bed. Then freezes. Dean is…

"I'm twenty-six. I know, I know." Dean snaps. "I was trying to save Sam."

"And somehow got yourself regressed?" Cas just stares. This is crazy.

"I was trying to get Sam some extra years, but it isn't possible, so they gave them to me instead." Dean buries his face in his pillow, his voice muffled. "Can you please just go away, Cas? Please?"

A couple tears run down Cas's face, one for Sam, and one for Dean. After everything, to have it end like this… it just isn't right. For a second, he places a hand on the back of Dean's head, trying to remind him that he doesn't have to be alone.

With another fluttering of wings, he's gone.

XxXxX

Jody Mills walks into the bar, scanning the booths and stools for Dean. Cas told her about what happened to Sam, and how Dean is now younger, and she's been looking for him ever since. She thought it would be harder, but Dean isn't making any real effort to hide at this point, and it hasn't taken her very long at all.

She knows Dean is in this town somewhere, but he doesn't seem to be in this specific place. She's about to give it up as a bad job and move onto the next bar when she spots him. He's sitting all by himself in a dark corner booth, the table in front of him covered in glasses and bottles. It's clear he's been here for a while. Shaking her head sadly, she goes over and sits down next to him.

He looks even worse up close. The circles under his eyes are so dark that they almost look like bruises, and his hair's sticking up in every possible direction. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and like he hasn't slept in five years all at once. He's young enough that it's a weird mix of heartbreaking and unbearably cute.

"Dean." she says gently. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." He knocks back another shot. "But whatever. What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you." Jody puts a hand on Dean's arm. "Cas told me what happened."

"Then there's no reason to talk about it."

She sighs. Dean has always been like this, but she hoped that maybe this time, with something this bad, he would recognize he needs some help. "Dean, I've been talking to some other hunters while I've been looking for you."

"And?"

"And what they're saying has me worried." She plucks Deans next shot out of his hand and sets it back down on the table. "They say you're not technically doing anything wrong, but you've gotten by far more violent. Cold. And I already thought your job was fairly violent before, so I hate to think what you've been getting up to lately."

"It's not more violent than usual to cut a vampire's head off with razor wire." Dean points out, taking his shot back and belting it down. "I mean, sure, I guess it's even a little more hands-on than a machete, but not by that much, and it still gets the job done."

Jody shakes her head. "And the werewolf you tortured for information?"

"He had a pack, Jody. A _pack_. I couldn't just kill him without figuring out where the rest of them were. It was important."

"But did you really have to melt down some silver and make him drink it?"

"Whatever it takes."

"And that there is the problem." Jody leans forward, trying to catch Dean's eye. "Dean, look at me."

He looks up sullenly. This age suits him. Late teens and twenties always seemed to be where he was developmentally stuck, and the look he's giving her now fits that image perfectly.

"Hurting someone like that just because you're upset isn't alright. What you did was wrong."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe at least stick to a silver blade next time?"

Dean laughs bitterly. "Sure, Jody. Can do."

XxXxX

Jody sits down on her bed and clasps her hands in front of her. "Castiel. Castiel, I wanna talk to you."

There's a flapping sound, and Cas appears in front of her. "Yes, Jody, what is it?"

"Dean needs to take a break." she says decisively. "Everybody needs some time off at some point, especially after something horrible happens. And I think it would be really good for him to get some space, and maybe a little stability. Everything's quiet, Castiel, and he needs help. Take him somewhere, get him settled down in a permanent home. I'm not saying he has to stop hunting for good, but I think it would really help him to put down some roots, have a home base."

"And what do you think the bunker is?"

"He hasn't been back there since Sam died, Castiel. I don't think he wants to go back, not when it's so big and empty without Sam, a constant reminder that his little brother's gone. Take him somewhere else. Get him a home. Stay with him, if you can."

Cas nods slowly. "Maybe you're right. Everything is quiet, and I can stay with him. Maybe it would be best."

"Thank you, Castiel. I just worry about him."

"Don't worry. He'll be in good hands."

XxXxX

"Castiel."

"Yes?"

"You cannot just leave and take up residence with Dean Winchester."

"Why not?"

"He is mortal, and he has caused us a great amount of trouble."

"So have I."

"Because of him."

"That wasn't because of Dean."

"..."

"Most of that wasn't because of Dean."

"Our statement still stands, Castiel."

"I already practically lived with him in the bunker."

"This is different."

"How?"

"This is completely abandoning your duty to protect the Earth. At least you have stayed loyal to that, no matter how misguided your attempts may have been. But you are willing to give up on that simply because some human cannot handle losing his brother."

"But-"

"Enough. It is clear your mind cannot be changed. If you want to live alongside a human, then you can be one as well."

"Wait, don't-!"

XxXxX

Cas walks into Dean's latest motel room already speaking, trying to act like nothing's different with him. "Dean, I think we should-"

He stops. Dean is sitting on his bed, the room once again a destroyed mess, blood all over his hands and arms, his gun clutched in his fist.

"Dean." he says more cautiously. "What are you doing?"

"I don't think I wanna do this anymore, Cas." Dean whispers, staring down at the gun. "But I don't know if I can go through with this, either. I'm scared."

"Dean, please put it down." Cas sits down next to him. "I know it's hard, but this isn't the answer. You're right to be scared of it."

"But without Sam-"

"Sam wasn't the only person who cares about you." Cas says firmly. "Remember, years ago, when you told Sam that you didn't want him to die trying to kill Azazel because you would be the one to bury him? Don't you think I feel the same way? That there are others that do as well? Suicide may end something for you, but it starts something for the rest of us. We'll be left to pick up the pieces. Losing Sam is bad enough. Do you really think we can make it through losing you too?"

Dean stares at Cas in shock. It makes too much sense for him to feel entirely comfortable.

"Now, please put the gun away."

Slowly, hesitantly, Dean uncocks his weapon and sets it down on the bedside table.

"Good. Now, I went back to the bunker and gathered up the rest of your things. You need a break. We're going to go find an apartment, you are going to rest and regroup, and we'll make you a new home."

"Did you-"

"I locked the bunker up properly on my way out. We have the key. Nobody can get in. If we need information, we'll go back. But I think it's best to just keep you away from there."

After another second's hesitation, Dean nods. He's too tired, too done, too past feeling, to really argue with what Cas is saying. He'll go. He'll make it work.

Besides, who cares? Before long, something is bound to get him and he'll be gone. He'll be with Sam again.

And that's the only thing that matters.

**_Author's afterthought: Please review and tell me what you guys think. It's always nice and useful to get feedback._**


End file.
